


This thing between us is getting old (so we better move before it's too late)

by Narkito



Series: Make it happen [2]
Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: 7x04, Angst, Coda, Emotional, Emotional Constipation, Light Angst, M/M, happy-ish ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-15
Updated: 2016-11-15
Packaged: 2018-08-31 02:40:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8560162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Narkito/pseuds/Narkito
Summary: Sequel to "Trouble Magnet". In another life he would be approaching the end of his naval career, or rather the end of the traditional portion of it. He turns on the bed again. And then there's Five-0 and all it's complications. Five-0 that has given him friends and sorrows. And Danny. Danny who calls him at the most (in)appropriate times and says the most incredible things. Danny who needs answers from Steve, who in turn has been doing deep-soul searching ever since the surgery. The phone rings and he already knows who it is. Or where Danny and Steve finally get some talking done and try to get on the same page about life in general, and that thing between them in particular.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Immense gratitude for Ilmare Ilse who cheered me and for me in the writing of this piece. Also, the first beta I've ever had and I don't ever want a different one :)

It’s eleven at night and he’s laboriously trying to find a position to sleep in that won’t hurt. Being on his back hurts for obvious reasons, being on his left side hurts his face, being on his right hurts his ribs, and on his belly, rubs his scar wrong and he refuses to get up and do something about it. He switches positions again. It’s been an hour since he called it a night, since the mere idea of standing up made him feel old. And he is old after all, isn’t he? Pushing forty and still running wild?

He mentally shakes his head. In another life he would be approaching the end of his naval career, or rather the end of the traditional portion of it. Early on he realised he was never meant for the bullshit politics and fake alliances with other big-name officers that would allow him to continue past Commander, making his peace with it around the time he got his Junior Grade rank. Diplomacy wasn’t his strong suit either. But even with all that lack of delicacy, by the time he was well into the way of making it to Commander, he would’ve gotten started on his Master’s Degree; he would’ve been cracking his skull with a maths textbook instead of a wall for a while, and then he would’ve been taking charge of a SEAL Team or getting reassigned to a different post where his commandeering skills would be put to good use.

The contrast from one path to the other is high enough that he finds the energy to go into the bathroom, lather up his front scar with an emollient, check his back on the mirror and put on a t-shirt. _There_ , alleviating physical irritations makes it easier to dim existential ones. He stares at himself in the mirror and refuses to quantify how extensive his white-hair patches are getting.

On his way back to bed, his phone starts ringing and Danny’s goofy grin appears on the screen. He settles against the headboard and swipes to answer the call.

“Danny, how you doing, buddy?” He infuses as much energy as possible into the greeting.

“Fine. I didn’t wake you, did I?”

Maybe not enough energy then.

“Nah, I was just turning in,” he lies through his teeth.

“Oh, good. Look—”

“Wait, what time’s there? Did something happen?”

“Jesus, would you _listen_ to yourself? And you tell me I’m the pessimist? No, babe, nothing wrong. I just changed my ticket, I’m coming back sooner and wanted to let you know.”

“Oh.” He relaxes against the headboard, noticing for the first time just how tense he had become.

“Yeah, _‘oh’_.”

There’s a rush of blurred voices behind Danny and he figures he must already be at the airport.

“Why?”

“’ _Why?_ ’ Babe,” Danny says, putting so much tenderness and care into that word that Steve’s chest aches for it. “You were stabbed, Steve, that’s why. I mean, thinking about you without back up gives me chest pains, Steven. Or how about just because I miss you?”

He picks at his shorts and discovers a scab right above his knee.

“What time you coming in?”

“ _What time I’m…?_ Umm, I’m—I’m taking a direct flight, so I’ll be there by noon… your noon. Don’t worry, I’m not asking you to pick me up, I’m pretty sure you’re meant to be resting, even if you’re jonesing to leap buildings and kick doors down.”

“Okay,” Steve says.

“Okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” he says with a smile.

“You gonna pick me up anyway, aren’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“Fine.” There’s a pause. “Alright, super SEAL, whatever. Go to sleep then, tomorrow you have to help me lug a gazillion things that my folks sent for you and the kids.”

After they exchange a few more pleasantries, Steve burrows under the covers and turns on his side. He falls asleep almost immediately.

***

It looks like half of Oahu has already de-planed and no sight of Danny yet. He crosses his arms over his chest, and flinches from a twinge on his back. The traffic was alright, but keeping his hands on the wheel was more than enough to stiffen him up all the way down to his thighs. It wasn’t such a good idea to skip the painkiller after all… Well, from a road-safety point of view it probably was the right thing to do, the kind of analgesics he has to take now, make him drowsy. He shifts on his feet and checks his watch again. Yeah, it’s about time. When he looks up to the gate, he spots his partner and he can’t help the huge grin that spreads on his face.

“Hey, Danno!” He waves.

Danny’s pushing a cart with the two biggest suitcases he’s ever seen. No wonder it took him so long to get to the gates, managing to even put those monstrosities in the cart must have been a full down swearing job. He looks tired and doesn’t seem to notice him amongst the people.

Steve marches forward and plants himself in front of Danny who blinks sluggishly at him. His eyes a bit unfocused, a slow smile rolls from his lips. Steve was wrong, Danny looks exhausted. He tries to wrestle the bags from him, but Danny hugs him tight instead. It’s worth every second of the dull pain it brings.

***

“Okay, where’s your truck? I expected it to be parked illegally, flashing lights and everything.” Danny’s livened up a bit in the past ten minutes. 

Steve makes a pained face. So _this_ Chin forgets to gossip about? It sure doesn’t look like it ‘fortuitously’ slipped from his mind, he thinks.

“Okay, let me put it this way, remember what happened to your old Camaro?”

Danny’s grin widens, though it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“You mean to say somebody torched your truck? _Nah._ For _real_? You have pictures I imagine, for the insurance company, obviously. I mean, I’m hoping you weren’t in it when it went down,” Danny quickly amends; worry flashing quickly through his eyes. “Right? Chin would’ve told me about it if you had been involved.” Danny looks like he’s about to make him turn around for close inspection and Steve needs to put a stop to that.

“No, I wasn’t anywhere close,” he says, hands up, stressing how _not close_ he was. “The serial serial-killer did it. We think anyway.”

“Ugh, okay, that takes the fun out of it.” He rolls his eyes as he says it. “So, where are we parked? I assume you brought my car?”

_Huh._

“Huh. It didn’t… cross… my mind.”

Danny shoots him an incredulous look that slides off of Steve’s sheepish smile. 

“You came in that piece of junk you call a _classic,_ didn’t you? Damn, Steven, I want to get home sometime this century, preferably with the AC turned on.”

Steve twirls the keys to the car on his finger, waiting for the rest of the rant he’s sure is coming. He’s heard the Marquis’ list of failings a hundred and a dozen times already; he knows the script down the last eye-roll. It doesn’t come, though. Danny’s looking thoughtfully at the cart and the edge of the pavement; gauging up manoeuvrability, Steve supposes. It throws him a bit; it always does when Danny doesn’t follow the routine they’ve carefully developed over the years. He seizes a lonesome empty cart instead of dwelling on it, figuring a bag each they’ll be able to handle.

The rest of the way to the car is a compilation of huffs and sighs under the blistering sun, Steve doing his stoic best to push one cart with a suitcase big enough to stuff Danny in it, while Danny pushes one with a bag fractionally smaller. Steve grunts from deep within as he hefts the luggage into the boot of the car.

“You done displaying how manly you are? _Hi,_ my name’s _Steven_ and I have the strength of an _ox,_ which I must display at _all_ times, no matter how badly _hurt_ I am.” Danny shakes his head in exasperation, it’s hard to figure out if there’s any real annoyance behind it, so Steve looks the other way, fussing over the trolleys, pushing them further out of the way. “Just get in would you? Looking at you ‘s giving me a complex, a painful one.” Steve has already surrendered the keys to Danny, an early tactical error that he blames solely on the dull constant pain of his strained muscles. “Yeah, don’t give me the face, I’m driving. I don’t want to argue it. I drive, you take your painkillers; it’s a win for all involved.”

“Who is _all involved?_ It’s just you and me here, you know?” Steve observes

“That will do, babe. Just you and me works for me. You’re happy, that means I get a shot at happiness too. C’mon, let’s go.”

Steve relents and slides into the passenger seat. Danny slides into the driver’s seat and puts on his seatbelt. He waits for his partner to start the car before he asks, “How did you know about the painkiller?”

“You seem to forget we shared a hospital bedroom for weeks.” The _Steven_ is implied. “I watched you squirm and try to distract yourself to fight them off. I know you don’t like them.” Danny backs out of the parking space, looking both ways before driving singlehanded to the nearest exit. “There’s a water bottle in my backpack, you can take them now if you want.”

That he had put the pill bottle on a side pocket before he went out of the house is pure coincidence.

***

There’s a warm hand on his chest, shaking him lightly, and when he looks up he almost drowns on Danny’s baby-blues, flailing a bit to stay afloat.

“Hey, relax. We’re here. You awake yet?”

“I… yeah. I am. Must have dozed off.”

“Yeah, _maybe_ ,” he quips. “Go on, get out, go sleep it off. I’ll get lunch started.”

He tries to groan, but ends up yawning instead. He hates the idea of naps.

“I know, I know. Big bad Navy SEALs don’t do naps. Go break stereotypes on the couch,” Danny says on his way out of the car, the entire thing rattling after he slams the door close. He has no other option than to drag his drugged up self into the house and flop down face first into the cushions. Sleep engulfs him at once.

When he comes to again, there’s rustling in the kitchen and his stomach’s rumbling in appreciation of the mouth-watering smells coming from the other room. His body feels heavy and disjointed; still under the influence.

He manages to sit up just in time to see Danny balancing a tray laden with food into the living room, humming in approval after giving him a once over. The glasses clink against each other when Danny places the tray on the coffee table.

“Nice hair, babe.” Danny pats him on the knee. “Goes really well with the creases all over your face.” 

Steve does his best to tame his bedhead, scrubbing his face with both hands to instil some liveliness into himself. Still a little disoriented after that, he tries to figure out where he left his meds last time.

He has to put hands to knees to lift himself off the couch and it makes him feel a hundred years old. His knees _creak_ in protest for Christ’s sakes. Danny watches him go in silence, smiling around the rim of his glass.

“Shut it,” he barks, stretching to full height right before he walks into the kitchen, pretending he’s not stiff and sore from his middle of the day nap. Of course that’s the moment he basically trips on nothing but air and stumbles into the room.

Steve hears Danny snort a wet sound into his water, followed quickly by, “Shit!”.

“Serves you right,” Steve adds under his breath and rummages on the cupboard until he comes up with the right pills. He takes a handful of serviettes and puts them in his pocket on the way out.

Danny’s still trying to mop up his mess when Steve comes back to the couch. Steve sits laboriously next to him and hands over the serviettes, which his partner promptly uses to dab his jeans and a few spots on the couch.

“Thanks, babe.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

They both take their plates into their laps and dig in. Lunch consists of lots of green vegetables thrown together, whole grain rice and chicken. Compliant to a “t” with their dietary needs. A big part of Steve is beyond ready to gobble down a supersized Hawaiian pizza and a stack of cocoa puffs for desert. He munches on his greens and swallows with the help of a big gulp of water. Other thing he hates about the kind of painkillers he’s on, they make his mouth dry.  

Danny clicks the remote control until he lands in an action movie that promises to be about forty per cent one liners and another forty of explosions. They both eat in silence for a while, the sounds of machinegun fire and silverware against plates filling up the room.

After some time passes by, the internal existential itch he acquired after waking up post-transplant, starts nagging him again. It always gets worse in the afternoons, making his skin crawl with impossible questions demanding even more unattainable answers. He’s not hungry anymore. He steals a look at Danny and discovers he has barely touched his food; following his gaze he realises he’s not even watching the TV, he’s just fixed into a point beyond the horizon, well past Steve’s living room walls.

Steve calls his name and Danny jumps a little, crashing back to the here and now, his silverware clattering to the plate. Steve didn’t mean to alarm him like that.

“Sorry,” Danny mumbles, like it was his fault he got startled in the first place. “What were you saying?”

“I was about to ask you if you were alright, actually.”

“Oh, yeah, sure, tired I guess.”

“Mmm,” he nods thoughtfully, “Something wrong with lunch?” Danny looks at his lap and seems surprised to find it practically untouched. “What’s going on?” Steve demands, the itch starting to shift into a gnawing burn of worry in his chest.

Danny sighs, and the bags under his eyes are more prominent than before.

“There’s nothing wrong, Steve, I swear. But…” He looks down at his lap again.

“But?” Steve presses, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Do you ever get the feeling that there should be more to this?” He waves a hand that encompasses the entire room.

“What,” he scoffs, “like _life_?”

“Yeah. Life. Like, we almost almost died, and things just…” he waves into the air, “you know?” His eyes acquire a misty texture to them and Steve posture tenses at attention, waiting for the inevitable bad news to come. There’s always bad news after all. “Okay, stop fretting, alright, would you just? It’s not— something terrible, I swear. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but everything’s the same, things just…” he waves into the air, again, like this time it’s the charmed. It isn’t, and Danny can tell because he growls in frustration and starts naming events of the past month; “Shootings, family drama, you jumping off buildings, it’s all the same. A whole lot changed, but in the end, in… the grand scheme of things, nothing’s truly changed. And I don’t…” he sighs, defeated, avoiding Steve’s eyes.

“And you don’t?” He presses on.

“Look, it’s not—” he cuts himself with a frustrated exhale of air. “My dad’s sick,” he finally blurts out.

Steve’s shoulders tense tight, the words hitting him like a freezing bucket of water.

“It’s not serious,” Danny adds hastily, remorse at his bluntness tinging his words, “but he’s going to need surgery—it’s a routine procedure, in and out in twenty-four hours, a week from now. He even insisted we didn’t have to be there, but Ma said we should assume he’s just being stupid and of course he wants us there.” He stretches to put his food on the coffee table, fidgeting with the tray.  

“Then why aren’t you there?” Steve asks, concerned.

“That is the big-bucks question, isn’t it?” He turns slowly to face Steve. “So why am I not there, babe? Why do you think?”

There’s a shift in the atmosphere that Steve doesn’t care for one bit, but he ignores it in order to make sure Danny doesn’t end up pining on him favours he did not ask for.

“Look, Danny, I didn’t ask you to cut your trip short—

“No, you didn’t.”

—and I don’t need you to be my babysitter.”

“I know. Neither does my dad, actually, but I get it. You’re a big grown man, you can take care of yourself, sometimes pretty poorly, but there you go, you pass by the bare minimum at the very least.”

Steve gives him a guarded look; he’s not sure what Danny’s trying to do here and it makes him anxious. The itch under his skin expanding ten feet into the air surrounding him.

“Fine,” he relents against his better judgement, “I’ll bite, why are you here, when you should—by all accounts, be with your dad and family right now.”

“I needed to know, to see with my own eyes that you were fine. I wasn’t lying when I said thinking about you without back up, at the behest of a serial-killer, gave me chest pains—

“Jesus, man, thinking of an overcrowded corridor gives your chest pains—

“—No, you don’t get to do that. You don’t get to interrupt, because I just spent eleven and a half hours thinking about what I was going to say. This is the part where you shut up and listen.

“Ever since the surgery you haven’t been the same, and—don’t give me that pissed looked, alright? I’m not judging, I’m saying I understand. _Alright?_ Alright.” Danny brushes his hair back on the sides and stifles the uneasy jiggle of his knee. “Look, the past few years haven’t been easy, I mean, I personally think it all started going to hell when Rachel forced me to—no, no, no, let me finish. I also met you is the point, which was great, the only great thing to balance out all the bad. And _sometimes?_ Sometimes I thought I was going insane, alright? And maybe I did a bit after Colombia, and maybe you did for a while there too. What I’m saying is that I _understand_ loss, I get it. And it’s like being in mourning of a dear friend, or a brother; all of all these what-ifs, and could’ve-beens—I know, okay, I know.

“If I had shot and arrested my baby brother, maybe he would’ve been out by now on good behaviour, or he could’ve pestered me over the phone to do this earlier, who knows?” Steve swallows convulsively and tightens his hold around his own chest, the need to squeeze until it all comes out in a blazing roar too great to allow it to slip away from him.

Danny starts again, softer this time. “And the thing is, nobody knows, Steve, _nobody_. Because those are thoughts, ideas, wishful thinking, right? But the hurt? The pain? That part is pretty real and I do get that, okay, I do. Which is why I can’t keep watching…” He looks out the lanai doors, avoiding Steve’s gaze if only for a second. He inhales deep, before he continues, “Someday you’re gonna jump over a railing, you gonna go into a house without proper back up, and you’re not gonna get up, babe; that will be _it_. Capital letters. And so is running yourself ragged to chase sunken dreams, buddy, all this what-ifs and could’ve beens.” He takes a shaky breath, bracing for something and Steve braces for it too, just in case. “This time it was close, too close, and I couldn’t stay with my dad, because our story is already written, there’s not much left to say. He’s my Pop, I love him to death and I admire the guy to the moon and back, but you? I don’t know, man, all I know is that I love you—yes I know, you love me too, don’t interrupt. What I’m trying to say is that I’m _in love_ with you, babe. Have been for a while. And that makes it really hard to watch you hurt yourself, because that’s my best friend, there, and also the man I’m in love with. Okay? I’m trying to say that I would really, _really,_ like to find out if we get to,” he points in between them, “do something and move to another stage, you know? And I can’t if you die, you asshole. So there.”

“Danny.” Steve exhales sharply. He can sense that Danny is about to start talking again, so he puts out a hand to stop him, to silence him. “I am—I’m trying. When I said I loved you, I meant it. And I’m trying to—it’s not easy, Danny,” he sighs, “and every day I end up trying to understand, to _accept_ , how much everything has changed. I know you get worried and I get that it’s… frustrating.” Danny rolls his eyes in a way that clearly states ‘ _ya think?’_ “But don’t mistake that for levity, Danny. I _am_ grateful. And I _am_ trying.”

Danny runs a hand through his hair, fingers tangling with the curls at the back of his head. It’s a nervous tick and Steve recognises it for it.

“So, what you’re saying is, you running around like your continued existence is just a concept that bears no practical, down-to-earth meaning, it’s _not_ you taking for granted the fact you’re alive?” His eyebrows lift for added effect. “Is that what you’re saying?”

“I swear to you I’m not. I _am_ grateful, Danny, and I don’t take my life— _our_ life, lightly. I swear.” He gives Danny a poignant gaze before continuing. “Look, seven years ago I thought I would be either about to retire or take on the command of a SEAL Team by now, instead I have five-oh, and I don’t regret it, but it has taken as much as it has given and I don’t know what to do with that… _yet_. But _this_ , you and me, this I want to do _right_ , this is something I refuse to put on the list of losses, and for that to happen I need to…” he croaks, suddenly impossible to talk around the lump in his throat and tears welling in his eyes. It’s disconcerting to feel like drowning when air is still well enough within reach. Danny lunges for him, and hugs him fiercely to his chest, returning his ability to breathe with ease again.

“Okay, I got you, buddy, but I gotta say,” Danny mumbles into Steve’s hair, “I did rather enjoy those two long weeks of you being able to sit still in between jumping buildings and helping a rogue James Bond.” He sits back with a huff, easing up on the hug. “You think we can get more of that, Super SEAL, some down time?” Steve nods silently, the itch receding for the first time in months to a dull thought at the back of his head.

Steve composes himself with a couple of deep breaths. Relishing the warmth of Danny’s embrace. He says, “if you make me your mum’s lasagne I could consider lounging for a weekend.” Hoping for Danny to understand it for what it is; a request to tone down the intensity for a while.

Danny snorts a chuckle of amusement. Message received.

“Typical. I bare my heart and what does he do? Tries to score something off of it.” He banters back with a smile. “Well, Steven, I’ll have you know if my sweet mother hadn’t made me promise that I would deliver about twenty pounds of rich Italian food right to your fridge, I would take it all back just for that. But since I’m a nice person, and my Ma raised me well—

“Hey, Danno?”

“What? _What?_ ” He says all bluster and movement.

Steve waits for Danny to really look at him before he says, “I heard you.”

“On what? The I’m-hot-for-you part? Or the please-don’t-end-up-dead part? Because you were kinda silent on one of those topics.”

“Both. And I’ll get there. _Soon_.”

Danny exhales the weight of the world through a deep sigh, nodding like he’s finally understanding something. He disentangles himself from Steve long enough to get his plate back on his lap, sitting much closer to Steve than before. Their clothes rustle against each other.

“So? How did you end up back at the psychiatrist’s house? What’s with that? I thought only the Navy could force you near one every now and then.”

“Well apparently the FBI is another institution that doesn’t care much for proper back up. I’m starting to think it’s a custom indigenous only to New Jersey, you know?”

“Well that’s fucked up.”

“My back happens to agree.”

**Author's Note:**

> (I sort of panicked on the title of both the fic and the series and now I'm afraid it's gonna come back and haunt me in my sleep, jeez!)


End file.
